


lollipop

by decidingdolan



Series: your words (my songs) [8]
Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: In The Bedroom, M/M, Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7930624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>his lips. your skin. staccato breaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lollipop

 

_"You taste,_

_just right_

_Sweet,_

_like Tennessee honey."_

_\--"_ American Money _,"_ **Børns** _,_ Dopamine (2015)

 

* * *

 

There are few things in this world more beautiful than seeing his face nestled between your thighs.

Glasses askew. Pale skin flushed and pulsing. His eyes dripping with want and you, just you. His lips wet and pink and coated with your juices.

He's tracing your thigh with the back of his hand. Corner of his lips tugged into a ghost of a smile.

"So?" he asked, stole a kiss at the head of your cock, and you shivered.

"Continue, uff," you were staring down at him, gritted teeth and a storm in your head. Your nerves fraying at their edges and your heart out of sync with your mind. "Eams, for the love of--"

He smirked. Lips capturing the skin at your inner thigh. Hand slipped down, gentle, slow. Stroked along your length, and you're writhing on the sheets, helpless. Moans, like some cheap adult video echoed in the room, and you weren't entirely sure if it's from your lips.

(Couldn't be.)

(How could it.)

He's under the covers, legs on the bottom half of the bed. Any clothes you and him had on ended up on the floor since who knew when.

It was a blur. Staccato breaths and overwhelming thirst. The rush to touch and be touched, the desire to feel and be felt.

He's kissing down your naked chest and pushing you onto the pillows. You wriggled out of your boxers and threw your shirt on the floor. Grabbed onto his hair and tugged.

Eamon was gorgeous. Lean limbs, flat chest, pale legs. Almost albino, untasted Irish skin. And you're not just thinking that because he's getting you off.

"I'm just," he's sucking. Tongue, teeth, and you were holding your breaths before you realized. "Having fun."

Another lick along the length, and you had to slam your fist into your mouth not to scream. "Eams," you're glaring at him, voice low, "Eams. Fucking _hell_."

How your sentence's end rose up to a stupid falsetto you didn't know.

"You're cute when you're frustrated. All red, and begging me like this," he smiled, arm reached out to pinch your cheek, "Sorry." And bent his head down, back at it faster than you could stop a scream.

"Holy--Jeesus...fucking---"

You're banging your head on the headboard, hand on his head and fingers lost in his curls.

Teeth sank on bottom lip, hips bucking up a rhythm of their own, and he's already taken you in, your entire length in his mouth.

Lips traced your cock, up, down. Pressure varied, sucking hard and then not. You're fucking his face, chest heaving and breaths scattered. Murmuring sweet curses under your breaths just to get that sweet, sweet relief.

"Eams, come on, unff...come--ff--uh, faster. Fuck. Just."

Thought you saw his little nod. He's sucking hard now, tongue playing around with you like that red lollipop on the last day of school. His hands caressed your thighs, up to your waist.

"So close, ahh, fuck. Eams. So close. Bit more. Faster. I'm ju--unff"

And your eyes drifted shut, taking in entirely the sensation that was his lips on your cock, the pleasure that was his tongue, the little nips that were his teeth. You're just getting in all in. Saving it. Remembering it. For another day.

"Ahh--Eams...Eams--fuc--"

_Thump._

He stopped, raised his head. Caught your eyes.

_Thump._

You shook your head, hard. A weak attempt to recall and restart your conscience. Your mind was drunk in reverie, your heart drenched in desires. Too indulged to care.

_Thump._

He crawled up your form, rest his chin on his elbow at your chest.

"Conor!"

_Thump._

"Conor! Open up!"

 

Shit.

It's Brendan.

 

Shit. Shit. _Shit._

 

"Aren't you gonna let him in?"

Look at him, eying you up and down and sucking his thumb. Nonchalant.

You pushed his head down under the covers before you could stop yourself. "Stay there!" Deep breaths. "Don't--uh, don't move."

He grinned, a finger at his lips miming the universal quiet sign, before disappearing. His head rested, still, in between your legs, and you'd turned into stone.

Tried smoothing your hair, hand plastering the unruly mop to your head. Not that it's any use now.

"'s open!" you shouted at the door.

Brendan came swaggering in, hair unkempt and smile brighter than the sun. "Hey you," he greeted, mussing up your hair and you almost sneezed.

Jesus.

"I thought you said the house was empty," came a whisper at your waist. You cleared your throat, let Brendan return his vinyl to its place. Attempted a long breath (and failed).

Brendan turned around just then, finger pointed at the covers. "C'mon," he called, chuckling, "C'mon out, Eamon. I know you're in there."

And you're slapping your forehead and looking up at your own precious brother with a pout on your lips.

"How did yo--"

He winked. "I know everything," ran a hand through his hair, before continuing, "Nah. If you weren't screaming his name at the top of your lungs when I got in--"

 

"Ugh, fuck."

Your face's probably toasted by now, your cheeks the shade of strawberry jam.

Eamon chose that moment to poke his head out, his arms wrapped around you and his legs straddling your form. The guitarist waved a hand at Brendan.

"Hi," he said, his smile sheepish, "You must be Brendan."

Said brother of yours gave Eamon a full-toothed smile. Clicked his fingers at him, and you couldn't help cringing.

"Heard a lot about you..." Brendan replied, "...rabbit boy."

Eamon nodded, cheeks pink. "Same here," he said.

And you're motioning, furiously at the older man, finger pointing at Eamon and your half under the covers, eyes pleading.

Brendan compiled, got the hint. Thank God.

He turned on his heels to leave, but not before, adding, "So you and the guitar guy, huh."

Muttering to himself as he waltzed out. "I knew it. I knew it."

 

"Talk later!" you yelled as the door slammed shut.

Eamon's rolling with laughter on top of you, when you returned (your focus) back to him.

"That was lovely," he mused, lips capturing yours in his, "You've got a cool one."

And you had to gather pieces of your remaining senses to reply.

 

"Eamon."

"Yea."

"Can we--you know, um. Talk about--"

 

He's laughing as he slipped back down, blew you a kiss.

"God, I was just teasing you," he grinned, "Relax."

You breathed, head slamming on the pillow.

"But I really like your brother."

You pushed his head back down this time, teeth biting at your bottom lip.

 

"Eamon."

"Yea?"

"Just don't."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for stopping by, reading, and/or reviewing!
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos/comments :)
> 
> Your ever humble fanfic writer
> 
> x


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